


the weirder customs

by onetiredboy



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Jealous Aziraphale, Pining Crowley, semi-oblivious aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 10:39:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19316506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onetiredboy/pseuds/onetiredboy
Summary: It's been 6000 years, after all. Who doesn't get a little loose at times?In which Aziraphale is weirdly upset for some reason at the idea that Crowley ever had relations with a human.





	the weirder customs

It’s a nice wedding.

Set up on the top of a hill near the seaside, right near to a large field where the ideal reception-picnic event can take place. Also one of the only places with a chapel so secular it barely even registers as consecrated ground, producing not much more than a tingle Crowley can feel through the bottoms of his shoes. The only people invited are Madame Tracy’s close friends, Newt and Anathema, of course, with the four Them as bridesmaids. Clouds had been rolling ominously in as they all arrived at the little chapel, but had somehow mysteriously dispersed, a miracle that had had Crowley give Aziraphale a raised eyebrow, and Aziraphale give Crowley back a pained look as if to say, ‘What, I was just supposed to let our friends get married in the rain?’.

Madame Tracy and Sargent Shadwell are in the process of exchanging vows. Aziraphale is sobbing quietly, even though the phrase “as long as the number a yer nipples stays true” is probably the least sweet phrase Crowley had ever had the displeasure of hearing with his own ears.

“Cheer up, angel,” Crowley leans over and mutters, “It’ll be over soon.”

In between wiping his eyes, Aziraphale gives a sideways glare at Crowley. Crowley almost fails to suppress a smug grin.

“I thought your lot loved weddings,” Crowley presses further.

“Oh, come off it!” Aziraphale berates him under his breath, “Have you _honestly_ never cried at a wedding?”

“Can’t cry,” Crowley reaches a finger up and pulls down his bottom tear-ductless eyelid, letting his tongue flicker out of his lips at the same time for added effect. “Snake,” he explains.

“Don’t pull faces,” Aziraphale nudges him.

Crowley pulls a face. Aziraphale gives him a stern look. Crowley mimics him, but then turns begrudgingly back to the holy affair happening in front of him.

It’s silent for a moment. Then Aziraphale fidgets.

“It’s just…” he says softly, “I don’t know. How many weddings have we been to?”

Crowley glances at the roof and tries to think.

“So many humans,” Aziraphale continues, and Crowley realises the question was rhetorical. “So many friends we’ve made, and, _oh,_ Crowley…”

Ah. Crowley knows what Aziraphale means, and it settles someplace deep in his heart where – just maybe – the neuron that would give the signal to his tear ducts to fill would be if he had one. They’re silent for a moment more.

“At least,” Crowley says at last, in a voice that is pressed heavy with the weight of immortality, “There will always be us.”

Aziraphale sniffs softly and nods.

“I don’t know if I could do it without you,” he says quietly.

And it’s a good thing Crowley has learnt by now to drown ever feeling he has ever felt towards Aziraphale, because for one small moment it comes close to encompassing him whole again. He says nothing. He can say nothing. To say anything might leave the channel open for all the things he hasn’t said over the last 6000 years to fall out.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

Sargent Shadwell and Madam Tracy kiss, and it’s about as horrible as Crowley had imagined it would be. He wrinkles his nose. Even Aziraphale, with all his love for all the things on Earth, is gravely silent.

“That,” Aziraphale mutters, “Is one of the stranger human customs.”

“Mm,” Crowley agrees.

“I really… I can’t honestly tell how it works,” Aziraphale continues. “And yet there must be something about it that makes it worthwhile.”

There’s silence for a moment. Shadwell and Tracy are kissing again. It’s somehow worse the second time, but Crowley is tuned out. He purses his lips, trying to keep his voice an even balance between casually interested and desperately curious, “You ever tried it?”

“Oh, goodness, of course not,” Aziraphale dismisses the idea like it’s ridiculous. He hesitates, frowning. Then he glances at Crowley. He says, “You _haven’t_.” in a voice that’s more warning than question.

Crowley shrugs.

Aziraphale bristles, “You haven’t!”

“There was someone. Once,” Crowley says by explanation, and the range of expressions he sees Aziraphale’s face process all at once is incredible.

“With a _human_?”

“W—Of course with a human! Who else with? An _angel?_ ” Crowley scoffs, “I only know one angel, angel.”

“I--!” This shuts Aziraphale up. His face goes bright pink, and he has to physically turn his head away and regain himself a moment before continuing. “It could’ve been another demon,” he mutters.

“Oh, yeah, well, you know Hastur,” Crowley sneers, “A real sex machine, that guy. Couldn’t keep my hands off him. That frog—lizard—thing on top of his head? Real attractive. Could barely keep myself from making the effort--”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, _please_ , stop,” Aziraphale begs. He sighs heavily. “It’s not responsible of you, Crowley. To play with a human’s feelings like that.”

“Oh, it wasn’t like that,” Crowley mutters, “We were just having fun, he didn’t want anything serious, and neither did I.”

“But _honestly_ ,” Aziraphale turns to him, “Why on _Earth_ —”

“I don’t know!” Crowley snaps, “Maybe I’m too human myself! But Satan knows if you spend 6000 years with only one other person in your life, well, sometimes you get lonely. And since there seems to be no possibility of you and I---”

He cuts himself off abruptly.

“You and I…” Aziraphale echoes emptily, in that same tone of voice Crowley has heard for hundreds of years now, the one that Aziraphale uses when Crowley has moved too fast for him. He has worked himself up too much, he realises.

“Sometimes you make mistakes,” Crowley says.

Aziraphale says nothing.

At the ensuing picnic on the hill near the chapel, Anathema catches the bouquet. She and Newt look at each other and look away again just as fast, smiling. Then Anathema glances up and sees Aziraphale. He beams at her and claps his hands, but not before she sees the sad look in his eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> ok aziraphale has 100% kissed dudes before (the gavotte is a kissing dance!!) he's a liar though.


End file.
